Work Text:
It had been Estë who had found him.
She could feel a gentle sorrow that touched the coastline. It was the type of sorrow that precedes death and decay. Worried that something was injured, Estë had followed it to the source. She did not find what she had been expecting. It was an elf laying curled up in a small cave. It didn't take much to guess that the elf was badly injured.
Estë gently scooped him up. He weighed nothing and trembled in her arms. Worried, Estë took him back to her island. It was there that she cleaned him down. She was startled to find that under the sand and tangled hair, she recognized the elf. She had not seen him for a long time.
Thought she had not gone to see, he had been brought back to Aman by Ulmo and stood trial before Manwë. Manwë had officially given him a pardon. Shortly after that, he had disappeared. It had been suspected that he had returned to the beaches, but no one had the motivation to track him down.
"Makalaurë?" Estë gently called, tugging at his spirit.
The unconscious elf made not move to answer, either physically or spiritually. It was like he could not hear her. This was concerning.
Estë puzzled over it as she continued with her work. She found that his right hand was badly infected and that the infection was creeping up his arm. It pained her to removed the limb, but if there was any chance to save this elf, she had to take it. Other injuries revealed themselves as she worked. Some were old scars, badly healed. Some were newer injuries that still bled.
The worst injury was that upon his very fëa. While the outside of the elf's spirit was motionless as if frozen, the inside was rotted. Guilt and self-loathing were consuming him from the inside out. Estë did what she could to shore up what was left of Maglor's soul. There was little more that she could do; her powers were with the healing of the body, not the fëa.
Once Maglor was a little more stable, Estë sent for her husband. Irmo sat for a very long while at Maglor's bedside. A month passed as Irmo desperately tried to sooth the hurt and heal the badly damaged fëa. Finally, Irmo had been forced to admit defeat. He went to consult his brother. The grim silence when he returned answered all of Estë's question.
There would be no saving Maglor.
His very soul was come unraveled.
"We should inform his family," Estë said softly.
"What family?" Irmo snorted.
"The family that lives," Estë frowned.
"They will not come," Irmo sighed, "They have rejected him."
"Surely not all of them," Estë felt slightly sick, "Has not Maitimo returned?"
"Yes, he has and little good it would be to call on Fëanáro's eldest," Irmo grumbled.
"Why?"
"After receiving his pardon, Maglor approached Maitimo. My understanding is that Maitimo yelled at him and threw a great many accusation at his younger brother."
"What about his mother?"
"Nerdanel chased him off," Irmo shook his head.
"Then what about the child that Makalaurë stole? I have heard that there was affection between them, at least for a time,"
"Elrond turned Maglor away," Irmo told his wife.
"His uncle, the king?" Estë tried.
"No love has been lost between Arafinwë and Makalaurë, even with Makalaurë's official pardon."
"Then he has no one," Estë's heart broke.
"He has no one," Irimo murmured in agreement.
Estë was distressed for several days after this conversation with her husband. She finally decided that she would call on the only two people who were likely to head any message from her. With a heavy heart, Estë gave a message to summon both Nerdanel and Maedhros to her. She didn't tell they why. They would find out as soon as they arrived.
Nerdanel was ther first to arrive. Mahtan's daughter stood tall and proud as ever as she approached Estë.
"You summoned?" Nerdanel sounded slightly annoyed.
"Yes, I thought that you might like to say good bye to your son," Estë pursed her lips at the short tone that Nerdanel had used.
"What do you mean good bye to my son?" Nerdanel crossed her arms.
"He will soon be no more," Estë sighed.
With that, she led Nerdanel into the airy room where Maglor lay. Nerdanel was taken aback when she saw her son who was nearly wasted away.
"Makalaurë?" she stuttered, gripping the door frame, "What happened?"
"I have done what I can, but he is dying," Estë admitted.
"What happened?" Nerdanel demanded.
"I do not know exactly what lead to him being in such a state, but I would guess despair was a main factor."
"Despair?" Nerdanel
"Yes, despite the official pardon, no one has found it in their hearts to actually forgive him. He saw this as a reflection of his true self; that he was unworthy of either love or forgiveness. As such, his soul is burning out," Estë sighed.
"But you can save him?" Nerdanel seemed almost frantic.
"No," Estë shook her head.
The news sent Nerdanel to her knees.
"My baby is going to die?" Nerdanel whispered in disbelief, "I never told him I love him."
"I am sorry. I will give you space," Estë went to leave the room.
The last thing the Valaier saw before she shut the doors was Nerdanel throwing herself over her son's body in despair.
It wasn't long after this that Maedhros arrived with his husband in tow.
"What do you need from me?" Maedhros asked in suspicion.
"I don't need anything," Estë said softly.
"Then why did you summon me?" Maedhros almost sounded annoyed.
Fingon snaked an arm around his waste to keep him calm.
"I merely wanted to give you a chance to say your goodbyes," Estë waived that the door behind her.
Maedhros narrowed his eyes. With Fingon in tow, he threw the doors open. The scene before him made him stop short. Estë gently explained once again the state that Maglor was in. Maedhros didn't seem to believe her at first, but after repeatedly reaching for Maglor's mind using osanwe, he found that Estë was correct.
"He can't die. The last thing I said was that I hated him," Maedhros snarled, clutching at Maglor's remaining hand, "Finno, get Elrond."
Fingon gave his husband a worried look, but left the room. He was back the next day with Elrond in tow. He had apparently briefed Elrond before they arrived for Elrond was not overly shocked.
The peredhel got to work by checking Maglor over.
"He has many injuries," Elrond finally stated.
Estë hummed in agreement.
"Perhaps it would be better if he died," Elrond frowned.
"Perhaps," Estë keep her tone noncomital.
"If he dies, he will be free of this body and rest in the Halls," Elrond pointed out.
"Nay, he will not rest in the Hall," Estë shook her head, "If he leaves this body, he will lost for good. His fëa is too fragile. Loose it from all earthly ties and he will leave the Song."
"What do you mean?" Elrond asked sharply.
"His fëa will be no more. It will cease to exist," Estë said solemnly, "This both Irmo and Námo agree with."
"No, that can't be right. There has to be some way to save him," Elrond's brow drew together.
"I wish there was, but there isn't," Estë bowed her head.
Elrond turned his back to her and methodically began looking for any possible way that Maglor might be saved. He found none. He finally sat back on his heels.
"I never thanked him for taking care of Elros and I," Elrond's voice was choked.
Fingon gently clasped his shoulder.
It wasn't long after this that Maglor's shallow breathing ceased as he departed his body. His fëa guttered out into nothingness and his body crumbled to dust even as Maedhros and Nerdanel clung to it.
And so it was that Maglor departed the Song of Eä and those who should have cared were left reeling and picking up the pieces.